


had to stop and stare

by softgrungeprophet



Series: Settling down, it takes time [2]
Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship/Love, Gen, Halloween, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 01:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21235832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrungeprophet/pseuds/softgrungeprophet
Summary: After a night of trick-or-treating, Johnny takes Wyatt to a Halloween party full of dancing and people. It's all fun and games until Wyatt gets a little woozy and Johnny has to take him home.





	had to stop and stare

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a heads-up:  
This fic contains some unwanted groping, and some implied roofying, but nothing more explicit than an ass-grab. Everyone remains unharmed.  
Also has drinking. 
> 
> Happy Halloween!  
This was originally the second chapter of a longer fic but I decided it fit better as its own standalone thing so here you go.
> 
> Title: "[LoveStoned](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QUuKvHHt8Sk)", Justin Timberlake

"I feel like I never see you anymore!" Johnny threw himself onto the couch beside Wyatt. "You haven't been at dinner at _all_ this week!"

Wyatt shifted to accommodate him, sprawling his arms across the back of the couch. "Sorry..." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes with a sigh. "Hopefully things at the school slow down soon. I'm exhausted."

"Aw," Johnny relaxed into the cushions, hair brushing Wyatt's arm as he stretched his legs out and said, "Maybe if you give me a massage you'll feel better."

Wyatt hummed, a little too tired to wrap his brain around that— "Now, hang on." He laughed. "Shouldn't that be the other way around?"

Johnny huffed. "Damn, you foiled my plan." 

"Hey." Wyatt rolled his head to eye Johnny, smiling, and nudged his knee with his own. "You scratch my back...?"

"I'll scratch yours—" Johnny paused, and narrowed his eyes. "Wait."

Wyatt laughed, and Johnny gave him a playful shove—Wyatt let himself go down with a _whump_ into the cushions. "Oh, I've been toppled!" He hooked his arm around Johnny's neck in some gentle cross between a headlock and an embrace, and Johnny went—lay down on top of him, laughing himself.

They lay like that, laughter subsiding, just for a moment before Johnny slid off of Wyatt with a light sigh, sitting up on the cushions. He rested his hand on Wyatt's shoulder, thumb sweeping slightly over the soft fabric of his t-shirt. 

"I'm not as good at massages as you are but, you know. I'll try." 

Wyatt pushed himself up so he could sit with his back to Johnny and murmured, "I don't expect anything—"

"_Ouch_." Johnny laughed as he dug his thumbs into the base of Wyatt's neck. "Spare my _feelings_, huh?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Wyatt bowed his head with a sigh. For all Johnny downplayed himself, Wyatt could already feel some of the tightness in his muscles easing under his touch. "Honestly..." He closed his eyes. Johnny's hands were so warm. "No one's ever done this for me before."

Johnny paused just a moment. "Really?" He ran his hands down Wyatt's back, firm but gentle. "Not even Jen?"

"No, not—" Johnny pinched his sides and he flinched. "You scoundrel!"

Johnny laughed. "Sorry, sorry." He smoothed his hands up Wyatt's sides. "Couldn't resist."

Wyatt shook his head. "You're a menace..."

"I do my best."

Johnny dug his fingers into a particularly dense knot and Wyatt grimaced, but the heat from his hands and the gentle prodding from his knuckles loosened him up and he nodded forward slightly. All he could do to keep his eyes open, breathing slow...

"Are you gonna fall asleep?" Slightly teasing.

Wyatt made a noncommittal noise.

"We have to get ready soon..." Johnny put his chin on Wyatt's shoulder, hands stilling though he still radiated heat. "Don't wanna make the kids wait too long."

With a sigh, Wyatt pulled away.

He stretched his arms over his head with a grunt. "Alright." He put his hands on his hips. "Alright, I'm ready."

Johnny made a face. "Excuse me?"

Wyatt grinned. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt, to reveal the Superman logo hidden underneath. "I've been dressed for Halloween all day." He struck a pose, flexing. "I'm Clark Kent."

"Oh my God." Johnny groaned, flopping forward on the couch. "You're the worst."

"Don't worry," Wyatt held his hand out. "I've got more than this."

***

"Oh my _God_." Johnny pressed his face into his hand.

Wyatt straightened his fake glasses. He reached for his hat, smoothing his hair carefully before placing it on his head just-so. "You should have seen the receptionist's face this morning. I thought she might faint."

Johnny laughed, clasping his hands together. "You're such a dork!"

"As if you didn't order tear-away pants for your costume."

With a scoff, Johnny pretended to brush his hair behind his ear. He put on a lilting southern drawl—truly awful—to say, "Why, I don't know what you mean, Mr. Kent." He bit back a grin, grabbing onto the brim of his shiny black plastic firefighter hat coquettishly. "I'm just a small-town fireman."

"_Stop_." Wyatt made a face. "Your accent is terrible."

Johnny burst out laughing. "I'll have you know—" He took a deep breath to compose himself. "That I am an _actor_! With credits!"

Raising his eyebrow, Wyatt shut his closet doors with a firm click and said, "And _I_ am technically a politician, but that doesn't make me a good one." He shooed Johnny toward the door. "Get along, now. Before the kids tire of waiting and decide to break down the doors."

Johnny let himself be pushed out into the hallway, grinning wide.

The sound of thundering footsteps alerted them to exactly what Wyatt had predicted.

"Catch me!"

Wyatt reacted on pure reflex, suddenly with an armful of blonde girl. Valeria latched onto him like an octopus—in fact, was dressed as just that, with a little round hat and a dress of sorts made up of suckered tentacles. She looked at him with a very serious expression and said, "You look like a Mafioso."

Beside them, Johnny snorted. She snapped to face him, arms still snug around Wyatt, and added, "You look like a stripper."

Johnny gasped, hand to his mouth. "Valeria Meghan Richards!"

She looked down upon Johnny derisively from Wyatt's arms, before turning her attention back to Wyatt in order to ask, "Will there be any skeletons?"

He settled her slightly against his chest. "Are you afraid of skeletons?"

She pursed her lips, an odd expression on a ten year old child. "No," She sniffed. "They're just always anatomically incorrect."

Franklin rolled his eyes, finally speaking up—"Can we go? I'm sick of waiting."

Arms crossed in his last-minute, handmade ghost costume.

Wyatt still couldn't believe the kid was _fifteen_, considering the last time he'd been in town Franklin had barely come up to his waist—and now he was already Johnny's height. (Not to mention Val! Ten years old!)

Johnny clicked his tongue. "A sheet ghost? You know, you could have borrowed something from me."

"He's an _actor_, you know."

Johnny elbowed Wyatt in the side and he smiled innocently.

"Your pants would fall off of him." Val tapped Wyatt's arm and he let her go—she landed neatly and put her hands on her hips. "He doesn't have a big butt like you."

With a slightly offended expression, Johnny's hands went to his behind.

"Alright," Wyatt slung an arm around Franklin and held his hand out to Valeria. "Stop being mean to your uncle and let's get a move on before the other kids claim all the candy."

***

"Hey." Wyatt sat on the curb with Franklin, at the end of the night, as Johnny carried Valeria inside (fast asleep). "I know teenage frustration when I see it. What's bothering you?"

Franklin rested his chin on his knees with a frown, sheet crumpled up on the sidewalk beside him. A little pouty, a little angsty, his hair faded to a strange teal-gray color. He reminded Wyatt just a little bit of Johnny, way back when they had both been eighteen or so—though Franklin was still thin and gangly, with that youthful roundness to his face. "Dunno." He turned his head down so just his eyes peeked over his knees. "Don't know anyone here."

Gently, Wyatt reached out to pat his back. "You're having a difficult time making friends."

Curt nod.

A short silence.

Wyatt let him chew through his thoughts a moment, one hand on his narrow shoulder.

Finally, "I miss the others." Franklin scooted a little closer. "I miss Leech."

Wyatt took the hint and pulled him into a loose side-hug, with a quiet, "I know the feeling."

Franklin looked up at him, frowning deeply, clearly tired. "You do?"

"Mm-hm." Wyatt gave him a gentle squeeze. "Even ol' Wyatt Wingfoot gets lonely sometimes. When Johnny dropped out of school I didn't have another roommate until the next year, and I hated it. I was so used to being around my family, but back then I was all alone, and I'll tell you something..." He leaned close. "I don't cry often but I cried myself to sleep a good few weeks straight."

The stricken face Franklin gave him tugged at Wyatt's heart but he smiled softly and said, "But hey. Look at me now. He's right across the hall every night, fixes me breakfast every morning."

Franklin sniffed a little—wiped at his nose and straightened up. "You think I'll be friends like you and Uncle Johnny someday?"

"Sure, Franklin." Wyatt gave him one last squeeze of the shoulder and pulled him to his feet, just as Johnny came back out the front door. "Say goodnight to your parents for me?"

Franklin nodded, and snatched up his sheet before running inside.

Johnny crossed his arms, leaning his weight onto one foot with a smile. "Look at you, big fella."

"What?" Wyatt grabbed Johnny around the shoulders. "Just playing honorary uncle."

"And a damn good one." Johnny laughed, and tugged Wyatt toward the garage. "Come on, let's get going. We don’t wanna miss the party."

Bright light spilled out onto the pavement and Wyatt asked, "Your car, or mine?"

Johnny broke away from him, stretching his arms behind his head. "Well!" He spun, walking backwards. "Even though I'm still offended you spent a million dollars on a Porsche instead of asking me to build you something, I was hoping you'd be the designated driver tonight."

His grin was infectious, and Wyatt shook his head with no small measure of amusement.

"My car it is."

***

"It's about the entrance." Johnny took Wyatt by the shoulders. "The pizazz."

"Pizazz."

Johnny wiggled his fingers. "_Pizazz_!"

"Alright." Wyatt took his hat off, setting it in his seat. "I'll let you do that, then." His fake glasses followed, and his black suit jacket, and his tacky plaid tie. "I don't think I could stop you, anyway—bless your heart."

But Johnny was already halfway across the lot, popping open his fireman's jacket with a whoop.

And—yep.

There went the tearaway pants.

"The Storm has landed!"

And so had his pants, onto some shrubbery.

"Lord Almighty." Wyatt raised his hand to his forehead, sighing slightly.

But he hadn't come here to stand outside all night contemplating Johnny's state of (un)dress, so he unbuttoned his shirt until the Superman logo was on full display, bent down to fix his hair with a little curl in the side mirror, and followed Johnny to the Halloween warehouse party "of the century." (Or so Johnny claimed.)

Stepping foot across the threshold was like stepping from a cool bath into a drumming hot shower from every direction. Suddenly, he regretted his layers. It was humid, and Johnny had already disappeared into the throng of half-clothed bodies—though Wyatt did catch a brief flash of reflective striping from his jacket, accompanied by a glimpse of bare skin. Then gone, crushed between dancers.

The music thudded into Wyatt's bones, knocking the breath out of him, and he opened his shirt even more just to get some airflow.

...Not his usual choice of venue.

He wound his way around the edges of the crowd until he found the bar, slightly secluded, slightly shielded from the music, though still hot and noisy.

The bartender glanced his way and he raised his voice—"Coke?"

A nod, and within a few moments Wyatt found himself with a near-frozen can of Coca-Cola, dripping from the cooler. It hissed as he popped it open and he settled back to eye the other party-goers.

The bar, fairly empty, likely to fill up a little more when people began to tire. The floor, strewn with glitter and confetti. Orange and purple and green lights strung up near the ceiling, paper ghosts and skeletons hanging down on strings, wobbling in the displaced air from all the moving bodies below. All genders scantily clad, masked, pressed into skintight spandex, painted with makeup... At least one person with foot tall horns spiraling up from their head.

_Definitely_ not his usual.

A woman in a leafy fairy dress slumped into the seat beside him with a breathless, "Hey there!"

Wyatt nodded politely at her, taking a drink as she smoothed her bob down.

"Haven't seen you around before! You new to the scene?"

Caught in the middle of a fizzy swig, Wyatt nodded. He cleared his throat, shouting a little to be heard over the music. "Here with a friend!" He raised his coke. "Designated driver!"

"Oh!"

"If you see a fireman in leather shorts, let me know!"

She laughed out loud, head thrown back—probably drunk, by the way she was flushed. And by the open way she eyed him, eyes sweeping up and down. "Where you from, anyway?" She was not looking at his face.

"Oklahoma!"

"A southern gentleman!"

He nodded and took another long drink from his Coke, pointedly ignoring the way she leaned in.

"How about a square-dance, country boy?!"

Wyatt nearly snorted his drink, coughing slightly as he shook his head. "Rather not, if it's all the same to you!"

She pouted, and for a second reminded Wyatt of Johnny, wilting against the bartop with her fairy wings all crooked.

He stood, perhaps abruptly, with an apologetic look. "Sorry!"

She waved him off in dejection, and off he went.

His height proved some advantage, despite a few towering headpieces—halos, horns, witch hats—and he downed the rest of his coke as he waded into the crowd. He crushed the can between his hands and turned to hurl it toward one of the large trash cans he'd seen—nailed it, and someone whistled. He got caught up in a few high fives, the music hit a crescendo—

And there was Johnny, dual-wielding a margarita in one hand and a pink lady in the other—certainly not drinks he'd gotten from the bar, or Wyatt would have seen. He stood there laughing, some stranger leaning to shout in his ear.

His thigh-high boots glistened in the multi-colored darkness, reflecting spots of orange and green and red and purple from the lights, and as he downed his questionably-obtained pink lady the reflective stripes on his jacket flashed—a peek at his bare chest and the glittery red suspenders holding his pleather shorts up—

"Johnny!"

Wyatt carefully elbowed his way over, moving a few people aside as gently as possible.

"Wyatt!" Johnny beamed at him, hat slightly askew from dancing, and handed his now-empty glass off so he could throw his arm around Wyatt's shoulder. "Come to dance?!"

It felt like a thousand degrees in the crowd, with Johnny's arm around him, and Wyatt leaned in close to say, "Sure!"

He snatched the margarita, slightly melty, from Johnny's other hand and shoved it into the nearest pair of hands he could find, grabbing Johnny around the waist.

This wasn't his thing.

He didn't go for this.

Dancing, sure. He liked to dance. He'd danced with Jen. Even gone clubbing together once or twice.

Not in a throng of a hundred drunken revelers wearing next to nothing.

He certainly didn't know how to move for this situation, not with one of Johnny's arms around his neck and the other in the air, jostled by sweaty bodies. At least no one was trying to grind on him. He kept his arm locked around Johnny's back and let Johnny shove him back and forth in some semblance of swaying to the beat.

Maybe he should have just gotten drunk and consigned them to a taxi.

But he got into it after a few minutes. Loosened up, less self-conscious. Even found himself laughing with Johnny—a prettyboy vampire briefly joined them , then disappeared again. Lights flashing, the music beating in his ribs. Johnny stepped away from him—not far, just out of his hold, reaching for the ceiling with his head thrown back. Just dancing, practically glowing.

Wyatt had to admit...

He didn't hate this. The press of body heat, skin, leather, velvet. He liked the physicality of it all. Though he did maneuver away from a slightly too handsy woman, closer to Johnny, who'd found a good-looking, androgynous person in head-to-toe black leather and spikes to sidle up against. They ran their hands down his bare chest and he daintily removed their hands from his skin as he swayed his hips.

A man he didn't know kept trying to get Wyatt to dance with him but he just kept watching Johnny under the Halloween lights.

Wyatt wasn't used to seeing Johnny so comfortable with himself. Maybe the alcohol, maybe the darkness. It pulled at his heart a little, because Johnny looked so open and carefree for once, without it all being a façade. Not worried about what people would think if they saw him with a man. (Or anyone else.) Just having fun.

Their eyes met just for a second, and Johnny's pupils were wide in the colorful shadows as he smiled at Wyatt—

Rudely interrupted by Wyatt's stranger almost violently mashing his mouth to Wyatt's, lips boozy and tongue hot. A prickle stung at Wyatt's neck and he shrugged off goosebumps—detached his insistent would-be dance partner with a grunt, pushing himself away. The man stuck his tongue out, still trying to get up in Wyatt's space.

Johnny caught his eye again and nodded toward the edge of the crowd, grabbing Mr. Insistent by the shoulder with a, "Heeey, hot stuff! Cool your jets! Big guy doesn't wanna play with you!"

Wyatt removed himself from the dancefloor—toward the stage, and around the front, past the shaking speakers, over to a pocket of empty floor and shadows to catch his breath. Someone had definitely lit up in the crowd and it made his head pound in combination with all this input and chaos, and whatever crawling sensation that had him so off-kilter.

He leaned against the wall with a sigh.

After the song ended, a few people stumbled over to the bar, Johnny among them. Wyatt watched him waving his hands animatedly as he ordered a drink—quick on the turnaround, a bright green appletini with a tiny twisty straw. Johnny looked around as he sipped it, his hat fallen down around his neck and his hair messy. The same man who had tried to dance with Wyatt put himself into Johnny's space, leering. Johnny humored him like a parent would a child, wrinkling his nose but still laughing as the guy draped his arm around him.

Friendlier, friendlier... Johnny finally found Wyatt and made a face at him, somewhere between a grimace and a grin, until Mr. Insistent's hand drifted lower and got a handful of Johnny's leather-clad ass (and maybe more).

For a second, everything felt frozen. Johnny, startled, eyes still locked with Wyatt's. Wyatt, bolted to the spot, slightly lightheaded, slightly crooked. 

And then Johnny's elbow made solid contact with the guy's face, followed by a shove, and then for good measure Johnny's entire drink over his head, including the martini glass and the apple slice.

"Hands off, douchebag!"

Wyatt felt dizzy and he couldn't tell if it was the smoke, the music, the coke, or what. He slid slowly down the wall until he sat on the glitter-dusted concrete, head swimming, mouth dry, listing slightly to the side.

Johnny strode over, with his long legs and strong hips, briefly illuminated by roving lights and fire in his eyes and veins. (Beautiful...) Then deep blue in the shadows. He crouched down in front of Wyatt, clear-eyed—reached out to support Wyatt and leaned in so close his lips brushed his ear as he asked over the music, "You okay?"

Wyatt shook his head with great effort.

Gentle, and very soft, Johnny's latex-gloved hands found Wyatt's armpits and he hauled him to his feet—Wyatt leaned against him and Johnny stumbled, but pulled Wyatt's arm firmly around his shoulders. Without a word of protest, Wyatt let himself be led out of the warehouse and into the cold night air, slow and slightly unsteady on his feet. He took a deep breath, clean but burning slightly in his lungs, and let out a shaky half-formed sigh. Relieved to be out here, and not in there.

"Jeez, what'd you have?" Johnny reached up to push that little loose Superman curl out of Wyatt's face.

Wyatt closed his eyes against the streetlights. "Coke." He rubbed his forehead.

Johnny raised an eyebrow. "As in cocaine?" There was humor in his voice, but his eyebrows were pulled together in a little frown.

"No." Wyatt leveled him with a look, probably undermined in levity by the fact that he couldn't stand up straight. The ground wouldn't quite hold still, and it felt like gravity was dragging down on all 300 lbs of his body.

Johnny gave his chest a firm pat, clasping his shoulder. "You eaten anything today?"

"Yes..." Wyatt wobbled slightly. "I feel strange."

Johnny frowned and encouraged him toward the car. "Let's go, okay?"

Unsteady, Wyatt let himself be led to his Porsche, coaxed into the passenger seat for probably the first time since he'd bought it. Felt weird, not being behind the wheel of his own car, but Johnny knew cars, and settled with authority in the driver's seat after moving Wyatt's things out of the way.

"Thought... you were drunk." Wyatt leaned his head back against the headrest.

Johnny started the engine with a slightly amused, "Burnt the booze out." He looked out the window over his shoulder, pulling out into the street smoothly. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you're the one who's drunk, but I know you didn't drink anything." He caught Wyatt's eye. "Right?"

Wyatt nodded.

"Hey, put your seatbelt on."

Oh...

Wyatt fumbled for it, clicking it clumsily into place.

Johnny drove fast, and pulled out his phone at a stoplight while Wyatt drifted under the red glow. The speaker buzzed to life as Johnny connected with the FF comms and he asked, clipped and serious, "It's Johnny. Who's up?"

A mumble, then Sue's voice—"Reed's putting the kids to bed but all the adults are awake. What's the emergency?"

"Headed home and I need muscle." Johnny accelerated and Wyatt's stomach turned. "Long story short, Wyatt's not feeling well. Not sure if it's an emergency or not, but I don't think I can get him into the house on my own without flaming and I don't really want to burn the building down."

Sue clucked her tongue, motherly and distant, and said "I'll get Ben. How close are you?"

"Fifteen minutes. Meet me in the garage."

"Alright. See you in fifteen." Sue hung up, and Johnny stowed his phone in the pocket of his fire jacket with one hand, taking a sharp turn with the skill of a man for whom the vehicle was the extension of the body.

Wyatt groaned.

"You gonna throw up?" A brief glance, bright and worried.

He shook his head. Everything was just so... shifting.

Fifteen minutes felt like an hour, and he kept nodding, his head too heavy for his neck. Threatening to slip into sleep at any moment. Johnny kept tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, fast, like Jen's high heels in the courtroom. Wyatt wanted to reach out and make him stop but he couldn't move his hand. It just... wouldn't go. His fingers twitched, and he let out a sigh.

Johnny snapped his fingers in front of Wyatt's nose. "Stay with me."

Easier said than done.

The car lurched to a stop and Wyatt would have hit the dash if not for his seatbelt. He blinked slowly under the lights of the garage—the passenger door opened and he pitched to the side, seatbelt pressing into his face—but big rocky hands propped him up and a deep voice rumbled something indistinct.

He was so sleepy...

Moments swam in and out as he tried not to fall asleep—he couldn't disappoint Johnny, after all.

Ben Grimm's rough jaw... the lights on the ceiling... a glimpse of Sue standing at the top of the stairs with a hand pressed to her cheekbone in concern. Mr. Fantastic, speaking low as he leaned over Wyatt. Words just registering in Wyatt's brain, smooth and quiet.

"What's this...?" Reed nudged at Wyatt's chin, and he turned his head to the side with no resistance. "Hematoma of some kind..." He leaned closer. "Wyatt?"

He pressed his hand to Wyatt's cheek, holding him still as he held up a little flashlight. Wyatt blinked, and closed his eyes with a frown and a soft noise. Too bright. He just wanted to sleep until everything stopped being so spinny.

"Do you recall seeing anyone with a needle, tonight?"

Wyatt tried his best to shake his head, squinting.

"Hm." Reed wiped something cold against the side of his neck, one hand off doing something else, his head following after it like some unusual balloon or sea creature or something. "Sue, darling, would you start the Fantasticar?"

Johnny's voice, from far away, asking "The car?"

"It's fine, Johnny. Don't worry."

"Now I'm just going to worry more!"

"It's only that I don't have any prophylactic equipment and if, as I suspect, someone injected Wyatt with even the most harmless sedative, we should take precautions to prevent him from contracting any blood borne pathogens..."

He continued talking but Wyatt had lost track around "prophylactic."

Something about needles, preventing hepatitis, the emergency room...

Johnny's voice rose from the meaningless babble with a sharp, "The emergency room?!"

"Please, calm down."

"I _am_ calm!"

Once more, Wyatt found himself being lifted by Ben, and curled in toward his rumbling chest. The vaguest memories of a man he never got the chance to know seeped through his thoughts...

...

"Wyatt. Wake up for me."

"'m awake." Wyatt kept his eyes closed, quickly slipping into consciousness though he still felt so sleepy. He took a deep breath. Finally blinked his eyes open in the soft half-light. Trying to wrap his brain around words proved a little difficult but he got out a quiet, "Where...?"

Johnny leaned forward to take Wyatt's hand—his palms warm and soft. "We're at the hospital but everything's okay."

Wyatt closed his fingers weakly around Johnny's. Made a small noise, which he intended to have been words of some sort but which didn't come out that way. His head lolled slightly but he looked at Johnny with half-lidded eyes.

"I'm sorry." Johnny turned Wyatt's hand over so he could run a finger over his palm. "I shouldn't have taken you to that party."

Wyatt shook his head sluggishly, eyes drifting shut again.

"Stay with me, huh?" A tickly, warm touch—Johnny's fingertip brushed along Wyatt's cheek, and he managed to open his eyes again to watch Johnny's face as he said, "I know you're sleepy but I was worried."

"Wh..." Wyatt breathed out slowly. "What happened...?"

Johnny pulled his hand away, leaving Wyatt frustratingly cool under his rough cotton blankets. He leaned back in his chair, jacket rustling slightly.

"Someone dosed you with diazepam, or something." Johnny flipped a stray hair out of his face. "At least, that's what the doctor said." He laughed, under his breath. "If you weren't such a heavyweight you probably would have passed out right on the dance floor." He crossed his legs, wearing sweatpants that he certainly hadn't been wearing earlier. "We're gonna take you home in just a bit, but you're probably gonna feel a little weird until Saturday, so Sue left a message for the school, to tell them you won't be able to come in for work in the morning. Okay? They got you pretty good."

Wyatt frowned, his face crinkling up, and muttered, "Time's it?"

A glance at the clock—"Only midnight." Johnny smiled at him. "Officially November."

"Woo..." Wyatt closed his eyes.

Johnny took his hand again, and he smiled to himself, just a bit.

***

Saturday morning (according to his phone, at least) found Wyatt up uncharacteristically early. Early enough, in fact, that when he shuffled into the kitchen, Johnny was still making breakfast. Flipping pancakes with expert precision as the sky outside turned a gentle shade of purple. Wyatt flopped down at the table, stretching his legs out with a huff.

"You're up early!" Johnny grinned over his shoulder. "Feeling better?"

Wyatt clasped his hands together, leaning his elbows on the table as one of the cats hopped up to insert herself between his arms.

Quietly, "I don't remember anything that's happened since Thursday night."

Johnny raised his eyebrows, flipping the last pancake onto the stack. "The doc said something like that might happen." He glanced toward the door as rustling alerted Wyatt of a few new arrivals—Sue and Reed and the kids. "I'll tell you right now, you slept a lot." He grinned crookedly. "Like, more than usual, even for you."

Wyatt rubbed his forehead, but he smiled too, as Valeria hopped into the seat beside him.

"More than usual for you, as well as more than usual for a heavy dose of Valium." Reed's hand snaked out to pat Wyatt on the back. "I take it you're all slept-out, now."

With a snort, Wyatt said, "Yeah, I'm not especially interested in staying in bed any longer."

"I don't blame you." Sue took a plate from Johnny and passed it along to Franklin.

In a few moments, everyone had been served, and even Ben and Alicia joined them halfway through.

It was nice.

Eating breakfast with everyone.

Sure, he'd never bring himself to wake up before dawn again, not even for this, but for just this one day... it was nice.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick doodle of their costumes:  

> 
> And you can see the kind of images I used as inspiration here:  
[for johnny](https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1WMeVDBLRboNiGJpwzPbnajcx0Q46PwBF?usp=sharing) and [wyatt's](https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1_8x-h_7nEiSLLenRarZAXxQJq_ELeQMi?usp=sharing) is pretty simple lol


End file.
